


Marriage (true love) Is What Brings Us Together Today

by orphan_account



Series: Giving Myself to You (Prompt Fills) [13]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Knotting, M/M, Mentions of Breeding, Omega!Stiles, a/b/o dynamics, alpha!Deucalion, sex toy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:04:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't true love, but it certainly is something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marriage (true love) Is What Brings Us Together Today

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDamnRiddler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDamnRiddler/gifts).



> Stalion Week Day Six
> 
> Theme: Arranged Marriage
> 
> No Prompt.

The ceremony goes off without a hitch.  Stiles is tense from start to finish, suit pressed crisp, and frown almost permanent on his lips.  Their hands stay locked, a red silk ribbon tied around them, and Deucalion’s hands seem somehow bigger than Stiles’.  Stiles’ hands are sweating.

They kiss and there is applause.  The uniting of their territories a great relief for all involved.  Deucalion keeps him close, makes it linger, and Stiles forces his mouth to go pliant for him. 

After that, the real celebration begins.  The party is large and loud; Stiles is already a bit irritated, on the brink of his heat and extra sensitive due to the increased flow of hormones, and everyone’s happy faces do nothing to improve Stiles’ mood.  Everyone keeps coming over to congratulate them as Stiles stands stiffly at Deucalion’s side, the man’s arm slung loose around his waist.  The heat of a body pressed to his is both aggravating and grounding.

As yet another Alpha werewolf comes up to speak with Deucalion, Stiles studies the ring on his finger.  His stomach flops over inside of him, something like dread, and he thumbs at the gold band morosely.  A large, warm hand squeezes at his hip, and he gives that tight little smile he’s mastered up to Deucalion.  The man’s eyes linger over his features, and then he leans in to murmur in Stiles’ ear. 

“We can leave as soon as you’re ready,” he says.

Stiles hates that he shivers.  “I’m alright.”

“Things will be… set into motion soon.”  Deucalion says, taking a deliberate breath.  “I can already smell it on you.”

Cheeks going a ruddy color, Stiles bites the inside of his cheeks, tries to remember what Derek had told him to do in this situation—but Stiles has never been good at following direction.  “There is nothing in the contract that says I have to sleep with you for the treaty to be honored.”

Deucalion blinks at him, and then he smiles genuinely for the first time.  “You’re so certain?”

“I helped write it,” Stiles hisses.  He’s grateful for the music now, grateful that it is drowning out their conversation.  “I won’t just bend over for you.”

“Well,” Deucalion hums, and his grip goes tight around Stiles until he has Stiles’ weight shifting to balance precariously against Deucalion’s side.  “I had originally thought you would.  But now that you’ve finally opened that lovely mouth of yours, I think it might take a bit of coaxing.”

“It will take more than just _coaxing_ ,” Stiles replies on a breath, but keeping his expression firm.

“It will be my pleasure to convince you,” Deucalion adds, other hand coming up to curve over Stiles’ jaw, thumb dragging along his lower lip in a way that makes Stiles quiver.  “And also yours.”

Deucalion kisses him.  It is much more than the one they’d shared at the altar; messy and a bit rough, claiming as Deucalion licks his way into Stiles’ mouth to twine their tongues together.  By the time they break apart, Stiles is breathless and clinging slightly to the lapels of Deucalion’s suit jacket as the party around them claps. 

When the Alpha of Alphas had originally come to them to create the pact, Stiles hadn’t thought much of it.  He figured it would be like previous treaties—the Hale-Argent contract had been simple and brought about, happily, with the marriage of Allison and Scott—where _things_ were traded until a couple formed naturally.  Deucalion had demanded an omega right off the bat; he’d bartered for a _person_. 

Originally, the plan had been to deny him.  But since the deterioration of the Argent family, the loss of his wife at the hands of a mad father and even madder sister, Chris had convinced Derek that it was a good plan.  That it might strengthen them all back up, not just bring in new territory, new blood.  So they all decided to agree to the terms.

Including Stiles, the only omega of the Pack, and an omega human at that.  Stiles is a rarity in this day and age; there are not many omegas around, and most need to be some decent supernatural creature to present omega or alpha qualities.  Deucalion had accepted the second he heard, an alpha Alpha werewolf with a Pack of his own consisting of entirely beta genders and Alpha statuses.  For both parties, the contract would be giving them something crucially needed.

Stiles finds it nearly impossible to sneak out of Deucalion’s grip, but eventually he does.  He makes his way over to one of the long tables, horderves set out in elegant patterns on silver.  His stomach grumbles, but he looks down at the food and feels a bit nauseas.  It is surprising, actually, how well he’s holding up in a room full of so many other alphas while on the brink of his heat.  They timed it perfectly, so that the mating bond could take on the night of their wedding.  Stiles feels sick.

He’s hot all over.  He knows that he’s already getting wet, his heat beginning to hit and hit hard.  He wants nothing more than to run away and hide.

A hand rests between his shoulder blades, soothing, and he knows who it is before they speak.  “You feeling okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah, dad, I’m just—“ Stiles covers his mouth for a moment, closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath.  “Just a bit on the green side.”

John grimaces.  “You don’t have to do this.  I could take you home right now.”

Stiles’ smile is small but grateful.  “I’m okay, dad.  Really.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods.  “I’ll be fine.”

They share a brief hug before pulling apart.  His dad pushes a glass of water into his hands, and Stiles sips at it slowly. 

Eventually, he begins to drift back over to Deucalion.  He knows that if he stays away too long, people will talk.  Halfway to him, he’s stopped by a stranger, an Alpha from another Pack.  Their hand is tight on Stiles’ wrist, and Stiles’ smile is polite but his posture stiff.  This man has a wild look in his eyes.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, actually—“

“Edgar,” Deucalion cuts in, and Stiles doesn’t know how he managed to move so swiftly through the crowds of people to get to them.  “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I was invited,” he says, like he’s pouting.

Stiles frowns and pulls free of his grip, pressing towards Deucalion; an arm winds around his waist again, keeps him flush, and Stiles swallows at the shock of friction when his crotch presses to Deucalion’s hip. 

“I certainly wasn’t the one to do it,” Deucalion says, smile going sharp. 

“Kali,” Edgar mutters.

“Of course it was,” Deucalion nods.  “Well, if you don’t mind, I’m going to have a private word with my husband.”

Edgar slinks away without another word.  Still held firm to Deucalion’s side, Stiles shivers heavily.  He realizes, almost absently, that there is something like liquid fire curling low in his stomach.  He shifts against Deucalion and moans quietly, the tips of his ears going pink as a few eyes dart their way. 

Scenting him, Deucalion lets out a pleased little rumble.  “I’m sorry about that.”

“About what?”

“Edgar has a bad habit of acting… inappropriately towards omegas.”  Deucalion says quietly, tilting his head to catch Stiles’ gaze.  “Especially those who smell as good as you.”

Stiles swallows thickly.  “I don’t—“

“You do,” Deucalion assures.  “And believe me when I tell you, I am not the only alpha in here that can smell how _wet_ you are right now.”

The glass between Stiles’ fingers slips.  Deucalion catches it before it can get too far, setting it on a passing tray as he moves to urge Stiles away from the crowds.  He guides him to the edges of the party, takes his jaw in a large hand and tips Stiles’ head back.  Stiles shifts against him again, lips parting under his touch, and tongue flicking out to taste the salt of Deucalion’s thumb.

“Look at you,” Deucalion breathes, eyes red and hungry.  “How are you even standing, right now?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles insists quietly. 

“You’ve been aching for hours, haven’t you?” Deucalion says, moving their bodies so that they’re chest to chest, a thigh between Stiles’.  “Your eyes are so dark when you’re aroused, did you know?”

“Shut up,” Stiles frowns, pushing feebly at his chest, heavy limbed and dazed.  “I’m _not_ —“

“You are,” Deucalion smiles again.  “And I can help.  Would you like me to help?”

“ _No_ ,” Stiles breathes.

“Are you sure?” he asks, leaning in so that his lips brush the shell of Stiles’ ear; Stiles trembles.  “I could get you off so well, sweetheart.  Fill you up, knot you, have you coming so many times that you won’t need to think.  I can take care of you.”

Whimpering, Stiles’ hips stutter forward, pleasure arcing up his spine.  He squeezes his eyes shut hard, fingers tight in Deucalion’s shirt, and there is a need in him that pounds in time with his pulse.  He’s panting already, hard in his pants and wet and wanting.  Deucalion drags slow kisses along his jaw.

“Let me take care of you?” he asks softly.

Stiles shudders and nods.  Quick and dumb.  “Please.”

Deucalion is quick to excuse them from the party.  He wants it as badly as Stiles does, though Stiles is certain that he doesn’t ache for it as painfully as Stiles is. 

Once they are out of the public eye, Deucalion lifts him off of his feet, carries him bridal style back to their suite.  Stiles is too far gone to complain. 

Deucalion wasn’t lying when he said he could help.  He gets Stiles off for the first time, pinned against the bedroom door, guiding Stiles through a heavy rut against his thigh until Stiles comes in his pants.  They kiss, necking in languid throws of heat, Stiles a bit unrefined but his eagerness making up for it.  Deucalion strips him, gentle and assuring, and then carries Stiles off to bed.  Stiles’ back hits the sheets and things go blurry.

* * *

When he comes back to himself, it seems like forever later.  The first heat with a mate and Stiles hardly remembers the main event, their bodies already tied by Deucalion’s knot buried in the wet tightness of Stiles’ ass.  Deucalion has Stiles cradled back against his chest as he sets back against the headboard, hands making soothing drags over sweaty skin, and Stiles mewls as he shifts.  He gets a wonderful groan in reply, Deucalion’s lips pressing sweet affection along one of Stiles’ shoulders.

“Need to come again, darling?” he asks.

Stiles’ hips rock again, feel how unbelievably wide he’s stretched around Deucalion’s knot, and he whimpers.  “How many—“ his voice cracks and he clears it, surprised at how wrecked he sounds to his own ears.  “How many times have I--?”

“Lost count, to be honest.”  Deucalion purrs, reaching for Stiles’ cock and pumping over it until he’s hard.  “I was a little too focused on how sinful you sound when you’re moaning my name.”

Stiles curses, head lulling against Deucalion’s shoulder.  “How long have we been--?”

“A while,” Deucalion says, smiling against Stiles’ skin, letting him rut back down onto the girth of his knot; Stiles groans as he feels another hand rub over his lower abdomen slowly.  There is a pressure in him when Deucalion rocks up that makes Stiles’ eyes roll back, heady and intense.  “Such a tight little cunt, sweetheart.  I love it when you come around me.”

Quivering, Stiles keens, hands coming to rest over the one Deucalion has placed just under his navel.  “This wasn’t how I—“

“I know,” Deucalion assures.  “But it feels good, doesn’t it?  Having me in you?  Having all of my come in you, _breeding_ you?  You can’t say you don’t like it.”

Stiles moans. 

“Such a good little bitch,” Deucalion breathes, rutting up again.  “Already so full of me, but so ready for more.”

“ _Pleasepleaseplease_ ,” Stiles pants as Deucalion rocks up again, as his the hand working over Stiles’ cock moves faster. 

“Of course, darling.”

* * *

In the morning, Stiles is still hornier than hell but his heat has already begun to settle.  He feels exhausted and sore, but in a good way.  Deucalion is curled around him possessively, watching him as he wakes. 

He remembers as he shifts against Deucalion’s hip, half hard already, that there is a plug to keep what Deucalion had released into him the night previous there.  He feels heavy and it is a good sensation; Deucalion smiles as he kisses him.  Stiles hums and tangles a hand into his hair as Deucalion reaches down to press at the base of the toy.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”  Deucalion says.

Stiles huffs.  “Good morning, asshole.”

“Such harsh language for your new husband,” Deucalion chides, but it’s playful.  “Whatever will I do with you?”

Stiles smiles.  “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”


End file.
